The Campaign: A MacGyver Story
by judybear236
Summary: Some vacation this was turning out to be! It wasn't bad enough I had to work on an oil spill, but then I well, I don't believe it myself. Something like double déjà-vu.
1. Chapter 1

The Campaign: A MacGyver Story (Alternative title, '_The K_ey')

By Judybear

Some vacation this was turning out to be! It wasn't bad enough I had to work on an oil spill, but then I well, I don't believe it myself. Something like double déjà-vu.

AN: This one starts out slow, but builds into a great MacAdventure.

I do not own MacGyver or Pete Thornton or the Phoenix Foundation

(MacGyver POV)

So there I was, minding my own business, trying to relax on the vacation Pete had promised me, when I get this phone call. Of course, it's from Pete. I tried to pretend he was calling to ask how I was, maybe even give me some extra days off. But of course, he was calling to talk me into a new job. I couldn't believe what I was hearing, "You want me to what? Pete, I don't know anything about being in charge of a bunch of volunteers! I don't LIKE working with … What about George? Send him! …. Only three days, huh? Where have I heard that before? …You're sure?... He'll be there in three days? … And then I can turn the whole operation over to him, right?... Yeah. It's just the 'being in charge' part that … Yeah, well, if it can't be helped… I'll let you know, Pete. You take care of yourself."

_He did it again. Got me to agree to help him out! Ugh!_

Seems there was an oil spill down near Charleston and it was contaminating the nesting marshes along the shorelines. The foundation was going to head up the rescue effort to try and save as much of the affected wildlife as they could. And yours truly had been talked into kicking off the enterprise. _You know, there aughta be some way of protecting our planet's heritage in wildlife from the damage done by greedy people who have no thought to what they're doing to our environment. Phoenix engineers were working on some alternative fuels, but it would be years before anything would change._

Anyway, I called in some help from a few of my friends in the South Carolina DNR, and was able to get my hands on some maps of the coastal areas. They also gave me a crash course on figuring out where to place the oil-collecting booms and set up a field hospital for animals - and for people, just in case – and a location for a base camp.

I arrived in my jeep to find a large old farmhouse that had been generously donated for our use. It was on high ground near the marshes and looked to be large enough for our purposes. But what I wasn't prepared for was the huge number of people that had assembled down the bottom of the hill where the house stood. _They never said I was supposed to organize an army!_

"Kensella, you're late!" I turned to see a slim woman, in her mid-fifties I would guess, standing with her arms akimbo in front of a Landrover.

Not altogether attracted by her attitude, and seeing no-one else in the area, I told her, "Uh, No, actually. I'm not…"

Sure enough she dived right in, "You were SUPPOSED to be here by NINE  
A M! It's almost noon! That's LATE!"

This confrontational exchange was getting us nowhere… "Well, for your information, my name is MacGyver, and I was given the wrong directions to get here by the secretary of a Doctor Wilson, which sent us thirty miles the other way. Now, could we get on with this?"

She suddenly blanched and got this perplexed look on her face…"The wrong directions? But…"

"She said the doctor had given her a folder, then locked his door and left. It wasn't until we called from Elizabethtown that she realized we had the wrong directions. Lucky for us, she remembered how to get here and gave us directions over the phone!"

By now this uppity woman was beginning to look fairly horrified and I decided that maybe she was human after all.

At the moment she was having trouble speaking, " I …uh….Ohhh… uh…"

I gave her a look of consternation, "Let me guess: you're Dr. Wilson?"

She slowly nodded her head, "Uhh… that would be me."

I looked at her sidelong and was about to walk away when she offered, "Look, Maybe we could just start all over again?" and she thrust out her hand, "HI! I'm Dr. Wilson."

Well, we needed to get started and the two of us had to work together – more or less – so I took her hand and told her, "Name's MacGyver. I was sent here by the Phoenix Foundation.

Nice to meet you. Now, let's get these people organized." And she smiled – or tried to smile. She seemed pretty unsure of herself. I wondered if this was her first clean-up?

I jumped up onto the roof of my jeep, turned to the crowds below and whistled through my teeth to get their attention, "Over here, people! Come on everybody! We have lots to get done…"

We divided them into four groups - those with different fields of experience and one for those with no experience. There were six who had multiple areas of experience and we picked them as our group leaders, assigning two to each of three sections of volunteers: those who would be taking care of the animals, those handling the oil booms and collection, and those doing the sandbags. Volunteers with no experience were divided up among the three groups.

We had them set up a group of tents for each section in even rows to make three groups of tents for them and to dig a perimeter trench around each group. We also set up a headquarters tent for me, one for Dr. Wilson and two large ones: one for cleaning animals and one for a dining and gathering area for everyone. We also established a car park where their cars could be left out of the way of the various operations. And latrines.

After everyone was busy doing their assigned tasks, I sat down and threw my head back against the car seat and blew out a lung full of air. _It had been a long day._

Wilson had been nagging at me all along, questioning almost everything I did. For the most part, I ignored her, hoping she would see what I was trying to do. Next thing I knew, Wilson had cast her shadow across me, waiting, maybe evaluating me? Resignedly I opened one eye and asked her, "Spit it out, Miss Wilson, what did I do wrong this time?"

"Ellen."

I opened the other eye and looked at her, questioning.

"Ellen," she repeated, "My name is Ellen. Just thought you'd like to know. So what's next, General?" she asked with a slight smirk.

I didn't know whether she was trying to make friends or if she had some other complaint up her sleeve, but I decided to give it a rest – for now. "Get in," I told her, and we drove up to the farmhouse.

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Didn't get very far, but that's Chapter 1. You can read and review, if you like. Not much happening yet.


	2. Chapter 2

The Campaign: A MacGyver Story (Alternative title, '_The K_ey') Chapter 1

By Judybear

I do not own MacGyver or Pete Thornton or the Phoenix Foundation

(MacGyver POV)

So, I had had each group of volunteers set aside an area between their rows of tents as a gathering area and now as evening approached I could see that they had each started a nice campfire, so I thought I'd pay each of them a little visit, get to know them a little.

The volunteers all seemed to be in good spirits, looking forward to the work that would begin on the next day.

As I left the first group on a high note (one of them had cracked a joke that had all of us laughing!), I cautioned them that "Revile will be at 4 AM, so be sure to get some sleep tonight. We need to be on the job at first light, so get some rest before then!"

I could hear them questioning the reason for the time as I approached a second fire. My ears pricked up when I heard someone with a hushed voice say, "Quiet, everyone! Here he comes now!"

"Evening, Mr. MacGyver!"

"Just MacGyver, please. And you are… Robert is it?" I asked a young man with straight blonde hair and a deep suntan.

"ROGER, Sir, Roger Appleby," he grinned. "Close, but no apple!"

I can appreciate a good pun and chuckled as I found a log to sit on. "So, is everybody settled in?"

It seemed Roger was the spokesman for the group, "Well we seem to have too many cooks, literally. But the sand-baggers don't have any, maybe we could swap with them?"

"Fine with me, just swap out tents…"

Another young man piped up, "Janie says she has extra room in her tent; so do I. How about if we move in together?"

A roar of laughter erupted before Janie told them, "No Way, Jose!"

A woman's voice asked, "Say, Mr. MacGyver? We were wondering whether you knew anything about, uh, reincarnation?" I laughed at that until I saw that she appeared to be serious.

A young black man who sounded educated told her, "Come on, Rosie. He doesn't want to be bothered with that kind of stuff now! He has more pertinent things to concern himself with."

A general discussion ensued and I put up my hands, "Hold on now, I've read a little about it … and I think I can speak for myself, although I do appreciate your concern, Randy."

Rosie turned to me, "Has anyone ever told you how much you look like Cump Sherman?"

_Now I had no idea who this person was, and the idea that she thought I resembled him was amusing, if a little disconcerting. _"Like who?" I asked with a grin.

Randy chimed in, "She thinks you look like William Tecumseh Sherman, the Union general during …"

_Interesting, and not quite so amusing anymore…_" Ah, I know who General  
Sherman was. I take it you feel the two questions are related?" _I didn't like where this was going... _"And you think… I'm…?"

"Cump Sherman reincarnated, to make amends for all the damage he did here during the war."

_ Ho, boy! I had no idea what to say. I started to say that that was ridiculous, but I didn't want to hurt her feelings, but I couldn't help laughing. Then I saw the look on her face and slid my hand down my face. "_I'm sorry, Rosie, I'm not laughing at you… It's just the thought of ME … and SHERMAN? of all people? Do I seem that much of a …?"

"That's just it!" She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, short brown curls bouncing as she emphasized what she was saying, "We return as the opposite of what we were in our former life. I mean, look at you right now… LOOK at him, you guys," _and I could feel the heat rising from my neck…talk about being put on the spot! _"Imagine him with red hair, a little bit shorter and unkempt, with a receding hair line…? And look at how expertly you organized this camp! Have you ever done that before?"

_I was so perplexed I could only answer her, _"Well, no, not exactly, but it just seemed the sensible way to do it…" _ Now I knew what 'Hot under the collar' meant… I was definitely feeling it._

"Exactly!" She declared triumphantly. "That's the way it happens! We know how to do things without ever being told! Tell me, do you ride horses?"

_Finally something I could get a handle on and maybe put an end to this discussion, _"Actually, I prefer ice hockey!" That got a roar of laughter from those within earshot. As I got up to leave I told them, "Revile is at 4 AM, people, so get some sleep before then."

00oo00oo

I sat in my tent, toying with a pencil while studying some maps. I wasn't sure how all of this would come together, although things were working out so far. I just wasn't sure how far I would need to carry this on my own. My tent was basically an office with a cot and a small trunk in a back room. The office part had a good sized work table - presently covered in maps, some camp chairs and a trunk up on legs to keep the papers dry at night. A two-way radio was crackling in the background when I heard a scratching on my tent flap. "Come on in!"

Rosie peeked around the edge of the flap. _Oh no, I really don't want to talk about this stuff…_

"Mr. MacGyver?" She entered hesitantly. "Excuse me?"

I was a little annoyed at the interruption, but asked her anyway, "Rosie! Hi! What can I do for you?" Rosie was a seemingly intelligent young woman, with an obvious fixation on reincarnation. Aside from that she seemed nice. Her curly brown hair was cut short so it stayed our of her hazel eyes that changed from green to brown, depending on her mood.

She approached me shyly, holding out a book, "I just … I thought you might like … just in case you'd like to read? About the real Cump Sherman?"

I took the book and turned it over in my hand, "Uh, thank you, but I don't know…"

"That's OK. Whenever you get around to it. My name and address are inside the cover… you can mail it to me when you're done with it." And she hurried out. _Strange girl. Cute, but strange. _ I put the small book in my pocket and had returned to studying the maps when Ellen came in.

"Well, the house looks like it will work for treating the birds and the parlor can be used as the clinic…" _ Ellen was turning out to be a decent worker and a good partner for this sort of thing. I was glad to have a veterinarian who knew a little about this sort of operation - but I wasn't about to let her know!_

After Ellen left I went into my quarters where there was a cot, a wooden chest to hold some of my stuff and to act as a night table and a card table with a couple of chairs. Nothing elegant, but functional. I lay back on my cot, reading over a list of some procedures I had just given out, but couldn't get comfortable. _Lumpy bed!_ But as I felt around I discovered that I still had that stupid book in my pocket. I set it on the night table, but darned if I couldn't get my mind off of it. _Probably no more than a bunch of propaganda about how heroic General Sherman was._ I started to flip through the book when an ornate brass bookmark fell out of it. I tucked the bookmark back into the book and started to read… and drifted off to sleep…

O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Sweet dreams, MacGyver! R & R if you like…


	3. Chapter 3

The Campaign: A MacGyver Story (Alternative title, '_The K_ey') Chapter 3

By Judybear

I do not own MacGyver or Pete Thornton or the Phoenix Foundation

(MacGyver POV)

_So this gal with brown, curly hair, was leading me through a forest toward the sea. We came to a big old house and it was full of birds. Funny, she said they were for her to take care of until they got better. Outdoors there were some of these birds trying to recover and regain their wings. Curious, I got a little too close and their wings tickled my face. I kinda rubbed where it tickled, but my face was rough, like I hadn't shaved. Reminder to self to shave in the morning. _

_Someone must have given me extra covers during the night; they felt heavy when I rolled over. I could hear horses. Horses? OK, Buddy, time to get up…_

I could smell the campfires going…_This time of the morning?_ I checked my watch – it was gone! I rubbed my face to wake myself up… and felt whiskers! What was I? in a real-life Rip Van Winkle episode? I rubbed harder to wake up, but the whiskers remained. What was going on? I could hear the clatter of many breakfasts being prepared, of men giving and receiving orders – and of horses. _Horses? _I threw off the covers and found that not only was it VERY cold, but I was wearing a red wool 'Union suit' – long johns! And they itched!

I looked around, amazed. It sort of looked like my tent, just a little… different. It was off-white and made of canvas, the walls were straighter. There was an extra table with a pitcher of water and a basin. And hanging on a hook was a uniform…

A man in uniform stepped inside and snapped to attention. According to his uniform he was a major in the army – the old army. "Good Morning, Sir!"

After studying his uniform for a bit, I tried to answer him the same way he'd addressed me, "Good morning! Name and Section? And can you tell me what's going on here?"

He was definitely more puzzled than I was. "Major Dayton, Sir? Your Aide? You seem to be incapacitated this morning. Shall I call for the surgeon?"

"The WHAT?" Now I might have been a little off kilter here, but I was pretty sure I didn't need any surgery! "Just... let me throw some cold water on my face and…." I looked again at his clothes and at the uniform hanging against the wall of the tent, "Where'd you get those clothes? Where are my clothes? Whatever is going on here, I don't think I want to join your show….Come to think of it, I don't even remember going to bed last night…"

"You didn't, Sir," and he picked up the pitcher and turned toward the doorway. "You fell asleep on your cot again. It was too cold last night to sleep that way, so I put you to bed. Your clothes are right over there on the chair," as he points with the empty pitcher. "I'll be right back with some warm water, Sir. I took the liberty of having your commode cleaned. It's under the chair."

Have you ever had someone try to explain something to you in a language you didn't understand? I looked under the chair and there was a kettle that looked just like my grandma's casserole dish. After a brief – and I mean _brief _– examination I set it back under the chair. "Nah… I'll wait."

I was getting dressed in this costume he gave me -_ I wonder which section he's from? If this is one of Pete's jokes, it's the best one he's ever thought up. Maybe he's outside waiting for me. But I'll say this much, whoever thought this up got all my sizes correct – even the shoes! _ Then I remembered the shaving. I found a mirror hanging from one of the tent posts and had a look…

"DAYTON!"

He immediately came inside, alarmed, "Yes. Sir?"

"My HAIR! It's RED!"

He looked at me as if I'd yelled that the sky was blue. "Yes, Sir."

"Dayton, this joke has gone far enough! Where's Ellen?"

Dayton frowned slightly, "Why, she went home yesterday…Sir. You saw her off yourself, Sir."

"She LEFT? You're sure?"

"Positive, Sir. You said the coming campaign was to be far rougher than the one in Georgia and you wanted your wife out of harm's way…. Sir."

"My WIFE?"

Just then someone else came into my quarters. _This must be a public meeting room!_

Soon Dayton and another man entered the room. This other guy was not in a uniform, though he was dressed a little oddly. He took a step toward me and took hold of my arm, "Come on, Cump, I think you've got the fever again… You don't feel overly warm, but your pulse is racing…" I pulled my arm away from him as he turned toward Dayton, "How long before assembly, Major?"

"About an hour, Doctor." _ So this new guy was a doctor… I searched my confused and foggy brain for what I could remember from my Civil War studies. If I'm with Major Dayton… no… It can't be. Sherman?_

"I don't need a doctor! Name and section?"

"I'm Doctor John Moore, Chief Surgeon, and you're having another bout with the fever."

_For the life of me I couldn't remember anything about Sherman and anything called 'the fever'! Wish I hadn't goofed off so much in Mrs. Field's History Class!_ I picked up a shoe to put on, "The fever?" I asked as casually as I could.

"Malaria. You have recurring bouts of Malaria. Major, send someone to my wagon for some quinine."

Dayton left the tent with a crisp, "Yes, Sir."

It was time to put an end to this. "Look, my name is MacGyver and I was sent here to organize volunteers to help clean up…"

But that so-called doctor wasn't buying any of my story. "Why don't we just get you back into bed, Cump ... or MacGyver … or whatever you want to be called this time."

"Nah-I don't think so. See, I just got up and I'd sort of like to find out what's going on!"

"Very well," said the doctor and had a seat on one of the camp chairs. "From what I've heard you've ordered the Twentieth to march for Sneedsboro, but you and your staff are going into Cheraw to meet up with the Fifteenth Corps and…"

_ What was this guy trying to pull? He was talking gibberish. _ I put up a hand to stop him, "But, can you tell me… what day is this?"

The doc leaned back on the chair with a smirk and crossed his arms across his chest, "Of course! Today is March the third, 1865." A noise from the outer office area distracted him, "Ah! That must be the quinine now…" And he left to see about the medicine.

_1865!? How can that be? I must be losing my mind! _ But before I had any time to think about it, a young man dressed as a courier stepped in and came to attention in front of me and saluted. I returned his salute and took the dispatch he handed me. It was addressed to 'MAJOR-GENERAL W. T. SHERMAN, COMMANDING, MILITARY DIVISION OF THE MISSISSIPPI'. I hesitated, afraid to get into this any deeper, but it didn't look as if I had a choice, so I read it, then went to 'my' desk out in the office area and wrote a quick reply, folded it in three, then in half … I must have blanched …_ That's how I folded all of the messages I had sent to the section heads! There must be some kind of a rip in the space-time continuum … or something?! _I addressed the note to General O. O. Howard, sealed it with wax and handed it to the courier, "God speed, Lieutenant!" _ Why did I say that? I never say anything like that! _

But the doctor was still there, leaning against the tent pole, smirking. Without turning to look at him, I asked him, "Don't you have wounded or sick men to care for? Don't… worry about me…. I just had a very bad and vivid dream, that's all. I'll be fine now." And just to show how 'fine' I was I picked up a map and began studying it.

The Doc smirked, then reached for a small case inside my desk and handed it to me, "These might help."

I looked inside… glasses! Old-fashioned wire-rimmed glasses! I grudgingly put them on as he left the tent, chuckling to himself.

_ Smooth, MacGyver. Real smooth. What am I here for? Maybe more to the point, how am I supposed to get back?_

_O0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o_

Nah–na–na–na, Nah–na-na-na … R & R if you like!


	4. Chapter 4

The Campaign: A MacGyver Story Chapter 4

[AN: Many of the campaign vignettes described in this story are adapted from and used by permission of Literary Classics of the U.S. and are from  Memoirs of W. T. Sherman, 1875, 1885, 1990]

The road to Cheraw was narrow and muddy and clogged with our ordnance, but I struck up a conversation with a helpful local who directed our headquarters group and a guard detail to other roads to Cheraw that bypassed the congestion and we were soon encamped near the village called Cheraw, well ahead of much of the column. It gave me a little time to catch my breath and to look around the area a bit ('reconnoiter', as they say). It also gave me time to make some notes in a handy little blank journal I'd found among the general's things. Seems he'd been keeping a journal of the progress of the war, so I kept it up, in addition to using the blank one for one of my own. That way, if anyone saw me writing in it they wouldn't question what I was doing.

Come evening I was studying some dispatches and maps when a rather bedraggled looking soldier came in and saluted, most likely the most recent in a long line of requests for leave to go home. He came to attention and saluted, "Sergeant Connors reporting, Sir."

I wasn't really paying attention and nodded my head toward him, "Yes, Sergeant?"

"With the general's permission, Sir?"

Well, that piqued my curiosity and I nodded again to have him continue. He presented a large bag at my feet and opened it. It contained three hams, half a side of bacon, two live chickens, four cheeses, yams and onions. Then he unslung a shoulder bag to reveal almost four dozen eggs! I was stunned!

"Where'd you get all this?"

"Forage, Sir!" he answered proudly. I was about to protest when I remembered the policy of living off the land – or in this case, off of the local residents. I and my staff certainly didn't need all of this, as much of it would be spoiled within a couple of weeks.

"Tell me, does every mess have this much?"

"No Sir!" he told me proudly. "I aporpiated these for the General hisself! …er, Sir!"

"Well, distribute it."

He was crestfallen. "Sir? But…"

I reminded myself that this man had been out since early morning, gathering what he could for the army and had chosen the best of it for our table. "Wait!" I told him as he was about to leave. I picked out a small cheese wheel and set it on the table. "Dayton?"

After a moment Dayton entered, "Yes, Sir?"

"See the staff cook gets some of the onions, half of the eggs, ten of the yams and one ham. Sergeant, take the rest to the teamsters' unit. They're always the last to set up camp and hardly ever get a fair share of the forage. They should be getting into camp soon. That'll be all, Sergeant. And thank you!"

Connors smiled broadly and saluted, "Yes, Sir! You're welcome sir! My pleasure, Sir!"

After Connors and Dayton left to sort out the provisions, I pulled out the diary to make some notations, then opened it to some folded papers stuffed into a cut-out in the pages of the book. I removed a partly finished sketch map and continued copying one of the engineer's maps onto it. _I don't know whether I'll be able to take this back with me when I leave, but if I can, I will._

I could hear someone approaching and put the maps away just before Dayton entered the tent. He looked like he'd swallowed a lemon. "You should see this, Sir" I looked up to see him holding out a copy of the _New York Tribune._

I glanced up, "Oh good! Not even a week old!" I quipped.

"I've circled an item on page four…" (the last page of the paper)

The newsprint was so fine; even squinting my eyes didn't help to make it legible.

_When I was little, Harry had tried to teach me how to tie flies. I learned – eventually, but so often I would be too anxious to finish the job to set down the pliers I was using and pick up the fine needle-nose ones to use. Harry'd get this exasperated expression on his face, give me a sigh, and hand me the correct tool. Well, Dayton was looking an awful lot like Harry right about now. He handed me the little wooden box that held my glasses._

"Your reading specs, Sir? You really should use them more… Sir."

I reluctantly took them and put them on. "Thank you, Major."

I was shocked to see that he had circled an article that laid out our plans to go to Goldsboro – printed! Right there in the New York newspaper!

Dayton added, as if it was significant, " It was found in a house recently vacated By General Hardee, Sir!"

_Grr! I began begging forgiveness of Mrs. Field with the faint hope that she would hear me and send me some of the knowledge I had ignored in her class! What was I to do? So I put on an act. _Feigning confusion and horror, I replied, "WHAT? You mean…?"

Dayton replied grimly, "Yes, Sir. General Hardee now knows of your plans to head for Goldsboro!"

_Now I understood, as little bits of information clicked into place. Sherman's plan was to feint toward Raleigh which would leave Goldsboro open to attack. _"So, it's no use feinting toward Raleigh. They know! Seems the South doesn't need spies: they have our own NEWSPAPER REPORTERS! They're more efficient and better informed than any agents the South could hope to enlist and train… And why should they? When we are ordered to feed and clothe these scoundrels ourselves!"

I tossed the paper aside and wrote a message to General Howard, folded and sealed it and handed it to the Major, "See this gets to General Howard… and send me that Pike fellow you told me about."

"Right away, Sir."

I looked at my surroundings and shook my head. _This HAS to be a dream! If it's not, I sure hope I get a chance to make amends for all this destruction and waste … even if it means I have to find a way to put a swift end to this war!_

O0o0o00o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

Oh! He's really in the thick of it now! R & R, if you like!


	5. Chapter 5

The Campaign: A MacGyver Story Chapter 5

A soldier stepped into the tent and immediately came to attention and saluted. "Corporal Pike reporting, Sir!"

He was young, probably no more than 17 years old, and wore his uniform rather, uh, casually. I wasn't sure if this was the one I had been told about. He certainly didn't look able to carry messages… but looks can be deceiving. "At ease, Pike. I have a message that needs to be carried through enemy lines… do you think you can handle that?"

He shifted his weight from one worn shoe to the other, avoiding my eyes, "Ugh… Yes, sir."

I tilted my head sideways and studied him, "Tell you what, gather up, oh, two different shirts, a jacket and two hats – one that will fit inside the other – and report back."

He nodded and left just as Dayton entered. I wrote out a list for Dayton, "Major, I'd like you to get some things for me, if you would…"

"Yes, Sir. First thing in the morning."

I handed him the list, "Now, Major. I want those items now."

"But..., Sir, it's… Yes, Sir." And he saluted and left.

I cleared off part of the table, then took off my coat and got an apron from one of the kitchen staff, a mortar and pestle and a small metal pan. As soon as Dayton returned I rolled up my sleeves and got busy, melting some of the ingredients over the brassier. In the mean time I shaved some pieces off of the horse hooves, crushed some of the eggshells in another mortar and added that tothe pan warming on the brassier. Then I cut a couple of patches from an old rubber poncho. I spread some of the warm concoction onto the poncho and then arranged some hair in the gooey stuff and set it aside. I then clipped some hair off of a buffalo robe and did the same with another piece of rubber poncho. The end result was two moustaches –one curly and one straight – with eyebrows and a full wig to match. I took some of the adhesive I was making with the horse hooves and spread it on the back of my hand, then cut out one of the moustaches and stuck it to the back of my hand, leaving it there as I worked.

I heard Pike and another man enter, but didn't look up at them. "You'll be traveling in enemy territory. You need to remain as inconspicuous as you can." I handed each of them two wads of some black stuff I had made. "Put one of those into a leather pouch and keep it cool. Take the other one in your hands right now and warm it. As it softens, smear it …" and I taught them how to apply blackface. As we were finishing, Dayton returned and did a double-take at the men. Then he saw their slight smirks and looked closer…

"Well I'll be … That's incredible!

I handed each of them a dispatch, "Remember, the blackface will come off with lard, but you have to wash the lard off before any new hair pieces will stick. Pike, you'll make your way to the Cape Fear River and secure transport to Wilmington. Edwards, you're to make your way to Lumberton and overland to Wilmington. These dispatches are in code. If you're caught, you'll be hanged. Be careful, and God speed."

I saluted them and they were off. I let out a sigh and sank down into one of the chairs. "Major, sending boys like that out to almost certain death is so… abhorrent to me; but this is a war and someone will say in the near future that war is all Hell and can't be helped."

"Sir? It's after midnight…"

I nodded. Man! I was tired! "Yes, it is. Good night, Major…. Oh! Major!" and I grabbed the wheel of cheese. Pulling out my clasp knife, I cut the thing in half and tossed half to Dayton. "It was too big for one person."

He caught the unexpected lob, saying "Thank you, Sir. Good night, Sir."

I nodded to him as he left. Remembering that I hadn't eaten any supper, I sliced off a bit of cheese and nibbled at it. The coals in the brassier were getting low, so I thought I'd take it out and get fresh ones, but I got no farther than my tent flap when another hand took hold of the bail.

"With your permission, Sir?'

I looked up and saw another soldier taking hold of the brassier. "Uh, thank you… Are you McCoy?"

He looked back at me, kinda puzzled, "No, Sir… Nichols, Sir."

"Oh, of course… Nichols… well, thank you. If you'd just return that to me?"

"Yes, Sir!" and he turned toward the campfire.

I was dressed in something they called a dressing jacket, my pants, shoes and a slouch hat. It was late at night, and I needed a little stroll. Didn't figure anyone would mind. I hardly was recognizable anyway. I got a few salutes… guess Sherman sometimes wandered through camp like this. Oh! And I found out why some people were calling me 'Cump'. Seems my real name was Tecumseh (William was added later by my foster-mother as a baptismal name) and I couldn't pronounce it when I was little, and would say 'Cump', and 'Cump' stuck. Hmh! I'm starting to think of Sherman as 'I'. Scary.

A commotion in the woods caught my attention and I headed that way. Looked like two soldiers tussling with a pile of rags, but I could hear a woman's voice.

"Evening, fellas… what's this?"

One of them half turned to me and angrily said, "Get lost, Buddy... she's ours!"

Now, 'Buddy' was my Grampa Harry's name for me, and he always used it in a nice friendly way. This guy wasn't sounding very nice or particularly friendly. "Let her go, soldier," I told them as threateningly as I could.

"I got a month's pay riding on this! Ain't no way I'm turning her over to someone else!"

I tipped my hat back on my head a bit to help them to see me, "Soldier, that was a direct order! Release her!"

" Hah!" he taunted. "Who you think you are? Uncle Billy hisself? Find yer own woman!"

The other soldier was by now standing at attention, occasionally nudging his inebriated friend, "That's EXACTLY who he is, you idiot!"

But the first soldier scoffed and told him, " Can't be! He ain't even got boots on! All officers wear boots!"

"Not Uncle Billy! They say he can't abide them! Sober up, will ya? Leave her be and let's go home."

"No Way!" the drunken solder yelled and lunged at me. I was able to deflect him and deck him using a simple Tai Kwando move. The other soldier helped him get to his feet and dragged him off toward camp.

I reached down to help the woman get up. "Are you hurt? Let me apologize for their rude behavior…" Her dress seemed to be torn, and not just from tonight's encounter, and she smelled like – the stuff Harry used to make me drink when I'd get sick. I s'pose you'd call it herbs.

Now I could understand her being a little skittish after being treated the way she had been, but as soon as she touched my hand her whole demeanor changed. "You! It's YOU! I know you! Your life… is being… protected!" She was beginning to sound like one of those Fortune-Tellers at the carnival "You have a strong visible shield surrounding you – not only in this existence, but in the next one also!"

Trying to interrupt her train of thought, I told her, "I'll be sure to tell Pete that!"

Without missing a beat, she said, "Pete is worried about you."

I chuckled, "Pete worries too much… HEY!" This was going way too far. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head to try to clear my thoughts. "Wait a minute! No!... Pete who?"

"You know. Here, take this." And she handed me something flat and sort of square made of metal. "My name is Rosalind and this is the key!"

I held up the thing to try to catch some of the light from the fire. It sort of looked like a large ornate bookmark. I was about to ask her some stuff but when I looked up, she was gone. "No Wait! Come back! The key to what?"

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To what indeed? Next chapter we're back to the present, sort of. R & R, if you like…


	6. Chapter 6

The Campaign: A MacGyver Story Chapter 6

I got back to my tent still puzzling about the thing she'd given me. _ Nah. It's too late to sort this out tonight. Maybe it'll make more sense in the morning._ I put it into my book along with the maps and turned in. As usual, I tucked the book under my pillow.

_Sometimes it's just really hard to get some sleep around here._ Next thing I knew, several pairs of strong hands were grabbing my arms and legs and another planted itself across my face. _ All this over a gypsy woman?_ I fought back and managed to bite the hand on my face, resulting in a yowl of pain and my ability to yell for help, "DAYTON! MC-COY! PROVOST!" … and then everything went black.

There was water dripping... and echoing… and my head felt like it was splitting open. I tried to move but found that my hands and feet were tied… and my head was lying in several inches of water. WATER! Now I knew I needed to move. I looked around and could see that I was in some sort of a well with places around the top of the wall where water trickled in – a cistern! And I got a sinking feeling in my stomach when I heard the sound of thunder nearby, soon followed by an increase in the flow of water coming in through the ports. I wasn't tied very tight and once my wrists and the ropes got wet I was able to wriggle out of them. I reached into my pocket for my knife – and my hand came out with my Swiss Army Knife… Yes! It wasn't until then that I was aware that I was wearing my own clothes! _Never mind the clothes, MacGyver. Ya gotta get yourself out of here or you won't ever have to worry about clothes again!_

There was an old iron ladder against one wall that led to a trap door above. As I climbed it the anchors in the brick wall started loosening up. I hung on and tried the trap door, but it was no use. There was the remains of an old pump pipe just about a foot from the ladder, but when I tested its strength a section of it fell away into the water below. From my perch I noticed a gap in the top of the brickwork on the opposite side of the cistern. I climbed back down and jiggled the ladder free from the wall and took it to the other side, but something was stuck in my jacket. I pulled it out – it was the book! Something clunked near my foot. I looked in the book and the metal bookmark was gone. I turned to leave and stopped. "The 'key', huh? Well, you never know…" I groped around the bottom in the deepening water 'til I found the thing. Looking closer in the dim light available, I noticed a pattern of markings on one side of it… there was a circle with marks on it that matched the pattern of inlets, the pump pipe and the ladder. And there were letters etched into the brass. One was the letter "W" in the middle of a circle just alongside of the large circle labeled "C". Now, if "C" was the cistern… "Could "W" be a well?"

I put the bookmark and the book back in my jacket pocket and took the ladder to the far side of the cistern. _By now the water was up to my waist and I wasn't looking to swim my way out of here! _ I climbed to the top of the wall and tried loosening some of the bricks with my knife, but that was taking too long. I tried kicking the bricks loose, and soon I could hear the sound of rocks falling into water on the other side of the wall. I grabbed the side rail of the ladder with both hands _Boy, I sure hope this works! _ and put my full weight behind my feet and kicked at the wall… and the wall gave way – and so did the ladder! Suddenly I was suspended in a well, hanging onto a three-foot section of that rusty old ladder that had wedged itself into the crumbling masonry. I got a leg up on top of the wall and then got myself up on it and took a moment to catch my breath. _Pete, next time I volunteer for one of your projects, just shoot me and get it over with! _ Now, how was I going to get out of here? The wall was crumbling under my weight with every little move I made; the old wooden decking was only about two feet over my head but didn't look strong enough to support a small child, much less me. To prove my point, I used that bit of the ladder to smash a small hole through the decking, but in the process more of the wall collapsed into the well, nearly taking me with it!

I was now about four feet below the decking, still precariously perched on that wall. I could see what looked like a more solid support beam above me and off to the side – out of my reach, of course. I needed a line…. I gingerly pulled the laces from my boots and tied them together and to the center of the rail section of the ladder, then opened up the corkscrew tool on my knife and tied the other end of the laces to my knife, anchoring it at the corkscrew. I set myself as solidly as I could and threw the rail section through the hole I'd made (_Yes!)_ and jiggled it around until I was sure that it had seated itself above – well, reasonably sure – but as the wall continued to crumble I saw that I had no choice. It was the proverbial 'Now or Never'. With both hands on my knife I launched myself from the wall, hearing it crumble more behind me, and swung myself up enough to hook my legs around that support beam. _Whew! It was holding!_ But I didn't want to press my luck any longer than I had to. I poked my head out of the hole I'd made, just enough to look around to see where I was and to see if anyone was up there watching for me.

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Well, like I told you, he's back to the present – sort of. R & R, if you like


	7. Chapter 7

The Campaign: A MacGyver Story Ch 7

(MacGyver POV)

Looking out through that decking gave me a rabbit's-eye view of the area. From what I could tell, I was hanging in a well behind an old farmhouse – much like the one we were using for our recovery hospital. Seeing my own car parked not too far away confirmed my suspicion. _ But why had I been trussed up and thrown into the cistern? And by who… er, whom?_

Carefully I pulled myself out of the well and made a circuit of the house. I could see a faint light and hear voices coming from one of the windows. I crouched under it, curious, because nobody was supposed to be here yet. They were still supposed to be either in camp, in the cleaning station or out in the marshes.

"But you can't just go around killing people!" declared a man's voice. "You'll have the F.B.I. down here! And what if THEY find the storeroom? Believe me, Senator, MY ass isn't the only one they'll have!"

_ I know that voice! _ Then, forgetting myself, I whispered , "*Can't be! That's Phil!*"

Then another man spoke, this time with a modulated, soothing voice, "Now, now, Phil. You have nothing to worry about. The storeroom is even more carefully concealed than the cistern … and they'll never find either one!"

_Seems someone is in for a surprise!... _

But Phil was talking again_, _"And what about the girl? You don't intend to…?"

_The girl? Of course! Rosie! She must have decided to stay in the house! And why not? It is her house – well, her grandmother's house…_

"No, with MacGyver out of the way," said the smooth-talking Senator. "She should be no problem."

"Well, I'm off to look for that key before the camp starts stirring…"

I was torn… did I go in and warn Rosie? Or intercept Phil? Deciding that Phil was most likely the greater threat, I headed for my tent but stopped short when I noticed a penlight casting shadows on the canvas tent wall. I stealthily approached the tent, despite the rain that continued to fall at a steady rate. I caught a glimpse inside the tent and there was Phil, standing in the middle of my quarters with the door to the outer office open.

"It has to be here somewhere…" he was saying to himself.

So I decided to answer him, "What does, Phil?"

I could have pushed him over with a whisk broom. "MacGyver! But you're…"

I smirked at him, "What? Dead? Not quite. Now I'd like to know what one of Phoenix's top operatives is doing snooping around a rescue and recovery operation, in the dead of night?"

"'Top operatives' you say? Why, thank you for the compliment! It means so much more, coming from you, MacGyver!"

I shrugged, trying to distract him as I spoke, "Of course, Phil! After all, it was always you and me showing the other guys how stuff worked, and survival techniques: you and me … buddies. Now what was it you said you were looking for?"

Phil scoffed and shrugged, "It… It's a… a key … uh, I gave uh … when I gave you the keys, I gave you one for something else, and…"

"KEYS? All this for some keys? We didn't need them so I mailed them back to you. The key for what? The storeroom, maybe? What's in the storeroom, Phil?"

Phil had been casting around for another way out and suddenly grabbed my kerosene lantern and knocked the chimney off of it and began pouring the highly flammable fuel around the room before lighting the wick. I tried to make several moves on him, but he was too fast for me and anticipated me every time.

Threatening me with the lighted lamp, he said, "Don't try it, Mac. I'll do it! Now, if you'll just step aside…"

I kept watching for an opening. "Don't do anything stupid! If you set a fire you'll be trapped inside. Now, just put the lantern down, nice and easy…"

Suddenly Phil whipped out a knife and slashed the canvas wall while throwing the lantern toward me. I dove for the lantern but missed it and the tent exploded into flames.

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Uh-oh! R & R if you like...


	8. Chapter 8

The Campaign: A MacGyver Story Ch 8

AN: HUGE apologies to everyone! I have been so distracted all day with my housekeeper, then a WebInar conference, etc., that I completely forgot to post this chapter! So Here it is, a bit belated...

Chapter 8

(MacGyver POV)

As soon as the lantern slipped through my fingers I knew I had to get out of there, but landing on the floor in a puddle of kerosene didn't help anything. Fortunately for me my jacket was wet from the rain and my little dip in the cistern and that protected me from the flames, for the most part anyway, and the wet grass extinguished the rest. A couple of the fellas helped me to pull down my tent before the fire could spread to the office area. Of course, by this time both Phil and the Senator were long gone. As more of the crew showed up, Randy had them set up a couple of the spare tents and move the office stuff into them. They could sort through the papers in the morning.

Ellen came running and threw a blanket around me before helping me up to the house. Once there, she pulled my jacket off. "What happened here? I haven't seen you all day. Where've you been?"

What could I say? "I'm not really sure.." _Harry always said that honesty was the best policy… _"Can you tell me what day it is?" The look she gave me made me wonder if there wasn't a little more to Harry's little gem of wisdom?

She gave me a look of consternation while she examined my hands, "Honestly! Where have you been? You've been here one night and already you don't know what day it is? And just how did you get so wet? You must have gone swimming out in the lake with your clothes on! "

Well, I tried to get a word in edgewise, but I was kinda worn out from it all, well, until what she said next made me sit up and take notice.

"Let's get you out of those wet things…" and she started unbuttoning my shirt! Now, that woke me up!

"No! Wait!… Uh, all my clothes were in that fire!"

"Mister MacGyver, I AM a doctor! You can wrap up in that blanket until I can find some clothes in your size… Oh my! Look at your hands!"

I guess I had been running on adrenaline and hadn't noticed the burns on my hands … she brought over a basin of warm water to rinse the grime off of my hands, but somehow the warm water started me shivering. "Umm... Ellen? I think I'm getting… a little bit…"

She took a better look at me and had me lie down on the cot where I was sitting, then brought out two more blankets. "Looks like you're going into shock."

It was getting hard to think, but I managed to say, "Bring the book in my jacket."

"Why?" she asked, continuing to remove my clothing under the blankets.

"Just bring it here_." I didn't know how long I could stay awake, but I knew I needed to hang onto that book, and that bookmark … what did she call it? The key?_

She started smearing some kind of salve on my hands and my face in places where it was burned and bandaged my hands, then handed me the book. "I don't see what good that's going to do you in the shape you're in…"

I thanked her and tucked the book under my pillow.

I must have slept the whole day because when I woke up the sun was hanging low in the sky.

"Well, it's about time! You hungry?"

I craned my neck around to see Rosie studying that bookmark. "Hey! What are you doing with that?" I started to get up before I realized that I had no clothes on! "Don't suppose you know where there's some clothes I could wear?"

"Yeah. Over on that chair." And she pointed across the room. "This bookmark has some interesting markings on it. Where did you get it?"

"It was in the book, now would you mind leaving so I can get dressed?"

"Huh? Oh! Sure!"

"And leave the bookmark here, please." She looked like I'd asked her to leave her kitten with me, so I added, " We can look at it together if you come back in a few minutes."

About a half-hour later we were sitting in the kitchen of the house, with the sounds of animals and birds who were recovering from treatment in various cages around the house honking and squawking to each other. Over some hot tea and biscuits we were comparing the markings on the bookmark, as we were now calling the metal thing and a sketch Rosie had made of the layout of the cellar.

"See?" she said. "It seems to correspond with the features in the cellar!"

"That's a cool bookmark. Where did you get it?"

_What could I say? I didn't want her to think I was totally nuts, but I didn't feel like… OK maybe I should…?_ "Rosie, I had a dream about someone called Rosalind…"

"That was my grandmother's name!"

"Yeah… Do you remember anything about her ever meeting General Sherman?"

"Yes! Some Yankees came to the house and were harassing her and Sherman happened by and sent them off! She said he was really nice! She said he even gave her some cheese! Wonder where he got cheese from?"

"Cheese?" _Where, indeed?_

"Yeah. I guess he needed to hide some stuff, so she gave him a key to a room in the basement."

"Maybe this was something he had so he wouldn't forget where it was?"

"Makes sense… it was in the book with the maps."

"Except… but, well, there are four circles on the 'bookmark', as you call it, but you only have three rooms drawn on your layout: The cistern, the furnace room and the well on the other side of the wall. What's this other thing marked with an 'S'? Could that be a storeroom?"

"Hmm, well… there is a pantry over there, and … you're right! There used to be another room down there, next to the pantry!"

"You got a flashlight in here somewhere?" I wanted to have a look around down there, but I needed some light and I didn't want to advertise my presence by turning on a light switch!

She reached into one of the kitchen drawers and produced a small flashlight. I stood up and checked that the batteries worked. "Stay here and let me know if anyone shows up who doesn't belong here."

I headed out the door, but she followed me. "How am I supposed to do that?"

"Well… come on," I told her, speaking in a hushed voice and heading for the outside cellar door. "You can wait here in the outside cellar stairway," I told her as I opened up the cellar door and started down the steps. "Let me know if any cars pull in. But be careful. Don't let them see you!"


	9. Chapter 9

The Campaign: A MacGyver Story Ch 9

(MacGyver POV)

So I started down the steps, but Rosie stayed right behind me. "I thought I told you to stay out on the stairs!"

"Well, it's raining out and… "

_Women! Why can't they just do like they're told … and stay safe? _"OK, but be careful." When we got to the bottom there was another entry door. Once inside we had a stone wall to our left and a wooden partition to our right. I shined the light on the bookmark and it showed the big 'C' to the left. "Rosie? Is this the cistern over here?"

"Right… er, correct."

As I shined the light around, I saw an opening in the partition. "Where does this go?"

"That's the larder. The ladder from there goes upstairs – or it used to."

My light shows the remains of a wooden ladder lying on the floor and some glass jars of home-canned food still on the shelves.

"Let me see that plan…" I was wondering why this wasn't on her plan

"I think it was part of another room, but I can't remember… It was a long time ago…" She told me, thinking.

"So this other door is the furnace room?" We looked inside, but it was much smaller than I'd expected. It looked like there was something missing, something else…

"Yeah…", Rosie was saying, "but there used to be another door here…" and she indicated the large expanse of blank wall between the two open doors.

I let the light play around the area and noticed that the wood looked different near the ceiling and near both doors. "Did they do some remodeling down here? Do you remember any changes?"

"No…, I don't… wait a minute? There used to be another door in between them! But.."

"Looks like someone decided to board it up! Wonder what's behind the wall?"

"I know there was another door here! " said Rosie, beginning to remember. "We used to try to open it or to look through the keyhole but we were told in no uncertain terms to stay away from the door!"

_Well, Harry used to say that the only way to find out what was in a box was to open it and look inside. But he also said to watch out 'cause there could be snakes in it. Now, I was no great fan of snakes – especially close up to me, so I decided to take it real slow and pulled off one board at a time._ Rosie took each board and stacked them up off to the side. Soon we had exposed a large and very heavy door with an impressive lock.

I tried the door – we both tried the door – and only managed to break off the handle. I held out my hand to tell Rosie to be still, and listened.

"What?" she asked.

"Sh-h!

We heard a pebble falling coming from the entryway. "Rats?" She whispered.

"Maybe... in here!" and I ushered her into the furnace room and almost completely closed the door.

A few minutes later a guy came down the hallway. When his flashlight caught the door and the boards lying on the floor, he rushed over to try the door, with the same result as we had. He turned around and left. We waited a while, but there was no sound of a car. Then we could hear people walking around overhead…. Whoever it was, they were in the house!

I needed a plan… I had been toying with the bookmark and suddenly realized that the ornate edges on the lower half of the piece were sort of parallel, but opposite. " I Wonder…?" Vigorously, I rubbed the thing on my jeans, then set it – lengthwise - against a loose brick, then used another brick to fold it over the edge. Then I used the brick to press the folded thing flat, doubling its thickness."Yes!" I whispered and showed it to Rosie. The edges of the lower part matched perfectly to form a crude key!

I peeked out into the corridor … it was clear. _Now to try this key in the lock! _I started out into the hallway, but Rosie was right behind me. "Get back in there!" I whispered to her.

She started to protest, but this time she must have seen that I really meant it and went back into the furnace room to wait.

I approached the door and tried putting the 'key' into the lock…_It fit! _ I tried turning it, then jiggled it a little and tried again… and heard the lock open! I gave the door a gentle shove and it swung free. I suddenly felt someone shove me into the room. My first thought was that it was Rosie, but I got shoved so hard that I landed with my face on the floor. Somehow, my light had landed just right and threw it's beam over a stack of golden metal bars - a treasure trove! - inscribed 'U S ARMY w.t.s.'

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I just HAD to stop here! Could not resist it!... Read and Review, if you like!


	10. Chapter 10

The Campaign: A MacGyver Story Ch 10

(MacGyver POV)

_These three days could not get any worse; I had been somehow transported to the Civil War as General Sherman, kidnapped, trussed up and thrown into a cistern, set on fire, and now I'd been shoved onto a coal-covered dirt floor. Oh yeah. I shouldn't have 'said' that. _ I looked askance out of the corner of my eye ... "Phil?"

Phil seems equally surprised, even though he's aiming a gun at me, "MacGyver?"

I started getting up, trying to brush some of the dirt and coal dust off of my clothes, "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't due in 'til tomorrow?"

"Well, I got an early flight ...Wow! Will you look at that?"

I noticed that he hadn't put the gun down yet, "Uh, Phil? The gun?" I said as I gestured toward it.

But just then a large nicely dressed guy appeared in the doorway asking Phil, "Everything under control here?" _Now, I can tell a politician by about the third word out of his mouth. Politician or salesman – about the same thing in my book, and this guy was a bona-fide politician! And that slimy, over-done southern accent was the frosting on the cake. _"Nice work, MacGyver. Phil here has been telling me a lot about you! We've been looking for that key for the last fifty years!"

I couldn't understand why Phil would do such a thing. He was already making more than I was at the Foundation. "Why? I thought…"

"How well do you know your history, Mac? This gold was stolen from the Confederacy in Columbia. Our boys recaptured it and hid it in several different stashes. My granddaddy helped to recover most of it, before he was killed by a Yankee spy. This is the last one. Sorry, Mac, you were such a nice guy, but such a sap! Maybe we should grant you a medal – posthumously, of course – for recovering this?"

Now I just don't like guns, especially when they're loaded and pointing at me. I needed to deflect his attention somehow. But then I looked at those gold bars and there was something very odd about them: they had Sherman's initials on them! That wasn't right. I was about to say something when a clanging noise came from the furnace room and the Senator left to investigate.

"Those aren't real gold bars, you know," I told him. Phil gave me a funny look and glanced over at the stack of gold.

"What're you trying to pull, MacGyver? Of course they are!" Another loud clang came from the furnace room followed by a heavy *thud* "Senator?"

Phil started toward the doorway and got a face full of coal dust for his trouble. I took the opportunity to plow into him and bowl him over, but he got a good kick to my stomach and was soon on top of me and both of us were scrambling around in the coal dust. I caught a glimpse of Rosie, poised with the coal scoop high in the air, waiting to clobber Phil should I lose this mad scramble. Suddenly Phil went limp and I looked up to see Rosie with that shovel. I held up my arm to keep her from clobbering me with it, "Hey! Rosie! It's me!"

"That you, MacGyver?" she asked, peeking around her upraised arms.

"YES! Will ya put that thing down? See if you can't find something to tie them up with." I pulled the drawcord out of my jacket and used it to tie up Phil, and when she saw what I was doing, Rosie did the same with hers. "There may be more of them upstairs. Wait here."

I started up the steps, but then came back for the gun. When Rosie looked at me questioningly I shrugged and removed the bullets from the gun, "Don't want any accidents to happen." I picked up three of the gold bars. "And these might make a handy mousetrap" And I took them and the gun outside.

_Now, when I was younger, Harry taught me how to make a rabbit trap by resting one edge of a wooden box on a stick standing straight up from the ground. We would tie a string around the stick and unroll the string until it reached a place where we could conceal ourselves. We'd hide there until a rabbit came along, then pull the string to catch the rabbit. Of course we had to put something under the box to entice them… a bit of lettuce or carrots. Well, I figured that the rabbits I was after were a little bit bigger and I'd need a bigger box. The rickety old front porch of the farmhouse looked just about right. I tied some rope from the jeep to each of the front pillars and then to the jeep's winch, then pushed the car a little ways away from the house. For carrots, I made a little stack of the three bars of 'gold', then called out in my best southern accent_, "Hey, y'all come see what we found downstairs!"

Sure enough, just like rabbits looking for carrots, they greedily picked up the gold bars. I started up the winch and the pillars came down, bringing the porch roof down on top of them.

A while later the sheriff had arrived and took the four of them into custody. I walked over to where the sheriff was questioning Phil. I couldn't help smirking, "You know, Phil, it's a shame you went to all this trouble for nothing."

The senator was nearby and invited himself to the discussion, "If it weren't for you we'd have had all that gold for the Sons of the Confederacy and to the glory of the South!"

My smirk grew to a lopsided grin. "No, you wouldn't, Senator, because that stuff isn't even gold. "

Phil and the senator and even the sheriff scoffed at that. "They're iron bars painted gold, well, actually it's an early form of gold electroplating that Sherman's engineers worked out."

"You're bluffing, MacGyver. There's no way you'd know something like that unless you either put it there or you know something about the markings on the bars. You're good, MacGyver, but not that good."

The racket of several Humvees pulling into in the clearing prevented us from discussing this any further. Several Army Officers emerged from the leading vehicle and came over to us. The senior officer flashed his ID at us and announced, "Colonel Howard, CID. We'll take that off your hands, gentlemen."

I sighed loudly, just to get this guy's attention. _I mean, I knew they were only doing their job, but did they have to be so, well, PUSHY about it? Somehow that attitude just brought out the mischief in me. Nah, I'll be nice…_ "Colonel? Uh, that won't be necessary. As I was just explaining to our friends here, those gold bars are fakes. There's maybe fifty dollars worth of gold in the lot. It's an early form of electroplating devised by one of General Sherman's engineers." To prove my point, I picked up one of the bars and scraped it with my knife – and the gold came off, leaving a different-colored metal beneath.

"But why such an elaborate scheme for fake gold bars?" asked Phil.

"So nobody would get curious as to where the real gold was hidden," I told them.

"Which is?" asked Colonel Howard.

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	11. Chapter 11

The Campaign : A MacGyver Story, Ch 11

(POV MacGyver)

"Uh, I'll Be right back," I told them and went back down into the cellar to retrieve the 'Key'. When I came back out Colonel Howard reached for it, but I kept it just out of his reach. "Nah-I think I'll just hang on to this for a little while longer, if you don't mind," and shoved it into my pocket.

"Young man, if that is part of what was found down there, it belongs to the U .S. Army."

"Yeah, well, that's just it. It doesn't. It's a kind of a bookmark… I'll explain on the way. Have your men follow us, " I said on the way to my jeep. "You can ride with us, Colonel, Sir. … Rosie? You'll want to see this." And I nodded for her to join us. "C'mon," I said with a grin.

Ooooooooooooooooooo

While we were scouting around down here for places to camp, we had come across an old earth embankment built as a fort by General Sherman. It was way off the beaten path and so had remained mostly undisturbed since the war. Now, I wasn't one-hundred-percent sure there was gold here, but I had a pretty good hunch. Because I had seen the door.

We parked as close to the fort as we could and hoofed it from there. I explained to the Colonel, "See, General Sherman had found the gold that the Confederates had stolen from the U. S. Armory in Columbia. He was moving his troops through here chasing General Joe Johnston and the Confederate Army and didn't have time to deal with a boatload of gold bars, so he divided it into four parts and had four details of his men each conceal a fourth of the gold in different locations and then report back. One of the details didn't make it back. Three of the stashes were recovered by the Confederates. One was not."

Soon a flat-topped hill appeared before us. I led them inside through various tunnels and chambers until we came to a heavy oak door with an ornate lock on it.

"Now what?" asked the Colonel. "I hope we haven't come all this way on a wild goose chase!"

I smirked a little and hauled the 'bookmark' out of my pocket, "No, Sir,"

"What is that? Let me see it." I handed it to him and he turned it over and over in his hands before handing it back to me.

"It's a bookmark with a map on it and once it was folded in half, it became a key to open these locks."

"Ingenious! And how did you figure out how to use it?"

I shrugged. _ What could I say? I wasn't about to tell him that a 19thCentury fortune-teller told me that it was a key and have to explain the circumstances of how I'd gotten it. No, I settled for telling him as little as possible. Sorry, Harry, but in this case honesty will just get me locked up! "_ I just sorta guessed… Sir,… well, that and Rosie's story about her great-grandmother." I turned and inserted it into the lock, leaving the Colonel with a puzzled look on his face. The old lock resisted at first, just like the one in the cellar, and I had to finesse it a bit, but then it gave and the old hinges groaned and creaked until the door swung open. The light of our several flashlights reflected off of a real treasure trove of gold bars and other objects worthy of a museum.

A collective "Wow!" went up from everyone.

"And these are authentic?... not copies?"

"Look for yourself, Sir. I don't think they'd have gone to all this trouble to conceal fakes."

"It's the real stuff, Sir!" said a soldier examining one of the gold bars.

Rosie turned and gave me an excited hug. I looked at her, surprised, then grinned and hugged her back. I looked at her and she had the same questions in her eyes that I must've had in mine. "You did it!" she said softly.

"WE did it," I corrected.

I could vaguely hear the commander's voice in the background, saying, "Form a detail and get this stuff loaded into the Humvees, Sergeant."

"Yes, Sir!"

I turned to watch as soldiers began putting bars and coins into heavy canvas bags, "Be careful with the coins and other artifacts. They're probably worth more than the gold bars."

The soldiers paused and looked at their commander, "You heard him. Pack them carefully. And I want a detailed inventory before anything leaves this room!"

"Yes, sir."

"But, MacGyver, how did you know the others were fakes?" Rosie unwound her arms from around me and pulled back to look at me.

I thought for a moment, "It was the initials, 'w.t.s.', on the gold bars. Sherman would never have put his own initials on government property. They had to be decoys."

Rosie and I rode back alone since the Colonel wanted to stay and oversee the handling of the treasure. Once we reached the house, Dr. Wilson came out to greet us. "There you are…" She stopped in mid-sentence and her eyes scrutinized me from head to foot. _I tell ya, I felt like Tom Sawyer in front of Aunt Polly!_ "Good Lord! What have you got yourselves into this time? Both of you!"

We looked at each other and only then did we realize that we were still pretty much covered in coal dust.

"I will be so happy to have Phil back tomorrow and be done with all your extra-curricular activities!"

She grabbed a broom and started sweeping some of the black stuff off of me.

"Uhh, I hate to say this, but Phil was already here … and gone."

She stopped sweeping and glared at me, "WHAT? Why? What did you say to him?"

I was trying not to grin too much. I really was… "He was in that police car that left here a little bit ago, in cuffs."

"What?" She set the broom down, leaning on it, "No! You mean…? I'm stuck with YOU?"

I shrugged and grinned and held up my hands in defense, just in case she decided to use that broom on my head. "Look, I'll try to keep my mind on the task at hand …. No promises, but I'll try."

Rosie started giggling before saying, "I'll just … go and get cleaned up. See ya!"

Once I'd spent most of my expense allowance on some new duds, I spent the rest of my so-called vacation working with Ellen and the crew, rescuing as many animals as we could. Of course, Rosie was there to show me the ropes – even if I already knew them. It was just so much more fun learning from a different perspective…. that often being from the viewpoint of her room in the old house.

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Hahahaha!

Well, that's it, folks! Hope you enjoyed the fun! R & R if you like.


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